I Ran For My Life
by everyone'ssister
Summary: Tag for Season 14 finale, Moriah. Inspired by the scene in 14x20 where Sam is running, trying to reach Dean before he shoots Jack.


I RAN FOR MY LIFE

He knew it. Dean would pull the trigger. He knew it. Sam knew it like the way his heart pounded in his chest and in his ears as he ran. Ran for his life. There's an inevitability swelling inside him like the heaviest sadness. He and Dean will have to end someday. Either together, or one after the other.

They had been fighting this 'inevitably' for years and years. And they were running out of time. Sam knew it like the burning of his lungs. Like the jarring impact his every footfall makes.

And he's running. He's running for his life. Knowing that one day, one day soon, he wasn't going to make it in time. And this might be it.

Dean yearned with his whole being to do the right thing, his soul always in turmoil to find it. He'd always been that way...the righteous man covered from head to foot in his own blood, his own loss. _The decimation of his own conscious._ Because he loved, he loved so deeply and everywhere he looked he thought, "What if it were Sam? What if it were mom?"

_His values were a heavier burden than his sins ever could be._ Sam would forgive any wrong Dean could do. But he would never forgive sacrifice, not THAT sacrifice.

And Sam had convinced Dean's gentle soul to give Jack a chance. The humanity, the dream that everyone (even himself) could be redeemed, letting Dean believe for a few short months they had finally done something right.

And now the responsibility weighed heavily on the righteous man's soul. And Sam realizes once again...he caused this. He made this situation, brought it to this point. And once again...Dean was paying the price.

. . .

_Dean's laid out in the front bench of the impala. They're parked in this grassy, all-but-forgotten road stop. The air is sweet and perfect, clear and cool with just enough humidity to keep them warm. _

_His eyes are shut where his head lays supported by his balled up coat. His phone lays on his chest crooning something into the atmosphere. But of course he opens up his eyes to check on Sam, make sure he's here, make sure he's okay. Sam vaguely thinks about how peaceful he looks and how he always allows Sam to interrupt anything at all. _

"_Dean. The Script, really?" He says drily, as he opens his dusty book up to the place he left off at. _

_His eyes flutter open again at Sam's voice uttering his name. "Leave me alone." Dean returns just as drily. But he'd gone out of his way to acknowledge Sam just to say leave him alone. _

_Sam snorts and then hums to soften his incredulousness. Whatever gets you through this day and to the next right?_

_. . ._

Sam's scared. Been scared for a long time. In fact every time they survive another day the fear grows. Because for everyday they survive together the closer the inevitable gets, the more karma builds up...the more hungry this world, and the monsters here get for he and Dean.

The universe was hungry for an end. Hungry for tearing the Winchester brothers apart. Hungry for ending this legacy. Hungry for robbing them of short sweet moments everyone deserves. Robbing them of their peace.

It was a force they had been fighting for years. That Dean had been fighting his whole life. And the only reason they fought it was because they knew it would only happen "eventually". Everyone had to die. Everyone had to lose someone. But they'd be damned if they didn't hold it off as long as they could.

And not like this, please not like this, Sam cries from the very center of himself as he's still running. Still sprinting for all he's worth. Yelling Dean's name like the only mantra he's ever known. The only prayer he remembers mumbling over and over again, calling out every time he needed something...some one.

. . .

_He wakes to a mostly darkness. Light leaking into the murkiness of his bedroom from the hallway; the door is open. The first thing he feels is the stickiness of his shirt and pants on his sweaty skin. Can feel his hair sticking to his face and he grimaces lifting trembling hands up to wipe the strands away. _

_His heart is still beating frantically and he exhales loudly through clenched teeth. He's not scared. He didn't wake up scared. But he knows the after effects of a night terror when he feels them. The worst seems to have passed even while he still slept, seemed comfort had come to him even before he woke up, and he turns his head and quickly finds why. _

_His brother sits on the edge of his mattress beside him. Hands clasped between his thighs and his eyes kind of in a sleepy daze focused on the floor. He's been sleeping, Sam could tell, his hair pushed up at unusual angles, sleep lines on his face the younger Winchester can see them in the shadows. _

"_Hey." He says softly and Dean looks over at him, the tiniest smile playing out on his lips. _

"_Hey." Dean returns, "You good?"_

_Sam nods and sighs, "Yeah, bad dream?"_

_Dean hums in affirmation, standing, "You were calling me."_

_Sam swallows because he knows what Dean really heard were blood curdling screams of his name accompanied by desperate grating breaths and sobs that sounded like they would crack his breast bone clear open. He knew because he'd listened to them many a time himself. When Dean cries for him in his sleep, begging and thrashing around, 'don't leave me...'_

"_Goodnight." Dean says over his shoulder, disappearing down the hall with soft footsteps and Sam sighs again, now for gentle, more secure-feeling reasons. _

"_Goodnight."_

. . .

So here he is. Running. Screams of Dean's name tearing his throat to shreds. And like always there's too much space between them. Just like always it just so happens this is the world's biggest cemetery. And Sam knows, just knows...he's going to be late. And he's straining his ears way too hard listening for one gun shot.

God. One shot. Of course it has boiled down to this.

—_He who lives by the sword dies by the sword_—

And he can see Dean's face in the quiet moments of peace that Sam had interrupted demanding attention. His face in those trembling, terrified moments when each other's presence was the only thing that grounded them. His face every. single. time. he responded to Sam's voice. Sam's voice calling his name.

And now. Right now. He prayed that it would be enough. Because if it wasn't it was meaningless, all the years Dean had answered would be meaningless if he left Sam now. If he gave up now. It had to work. Dean _had_ to respond to his voice, his soul reaching out towards Dean like it had all their life, it had to be enough to make him glance back over his shoulder.

To remember for one second that his sacrifice was not a single one, that it wasn't just his. To ask himself if his sacrifice was worth Sam's too. It was easy to give himself up, hell, he'd been doing that all his life. But was he prepared to give Sam up?

And he wasn't. Sam already, always, knew. He'd never, never be able to or be prepared to sacrifice Sam. And so he's yelling, screaming Dean's name to remind him. _I am here. Without you I am dead inside. And if you leave me here I am going to follow right after you and you can do nothing, NOTHING, to stop me. Without you here there is no life for me, without you I am not alive. _

And so he's running.

Sam runs for his life.

...the end


End file.
